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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141098">Santa Tell Me(Last Christmas Won't Happen Again)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept'>ProofOfConcept</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying'>wilddragonflying</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Collaborations [94]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mild Smut, Miscommunication</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:42:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Quentin honestly didn't think he'd be copied onto the email this year, but here it is. Sent to both his work email <i>and</i> his personal, Jesus. His invite to Margo's annual Christmas reunion.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin hates everything.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The thing is, he's supposed to be prepared for this. Even though he didn't think the email would come, that doesn't mean he wasn't aware that it might. And he's going to say no. He is. The last thing he wants right now is to spend the holidays in Margo's favourite, ridiculously extravagant cabin in the middle of a deserted, snowy forest with all of his closest friends. Except that he doesn't really have anywhere else to go. It would be the first Christmas he's ever spent alone, and he thought he'd made his peace with that. But...</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But now that the option is there, to spend it somewhere that isn't his lonely, drafty apartment, his resolve is weakening.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Collaborations [94]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Santa Tell Me(Last Christmas Won't Happen Again)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was accidentally posted when it should have been a draft a few days ago! Sorry to anyone who commented/kudos in the couple of hours before I realized my mistake!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quentin honestly didn't think he'd be copied onto the email this year, but here it is. Sent to both his work email <i>and</i> his personal, Jesus. His invite to Margo's annual Christmas reunion.</p><p>Quentin hates everything.</p><p>The thing is, he's supposed to be prepared for this. Even though he didn't think the email would come, that doesn't mean he wasn't aware that it might. And he's going to say no. He is. The last thing he wants right now is to spend the holidays in Margo's favourite, ridiculously extravagant cabin in the middle of a deserted, snowy forest with all of his closest friends. Except that he doesn't really have anywhere else to go. It would be the first Christmas he's ever spent alone, and he thought he'd made his peace with that. But...</p><p>But now that the option is there, to spend it somewhere that isn't his lonely, drafty apartment, his resolve is weakening.</p><p>Still, he manages to ignore the email for three hours before he picks up the phone.</p><p>"Well, if it isn't my favourite supernerd! To what do I owe the pleasure?"</p><p><i>Two bottles of wine,</i> Quentin thinks, but barely manages to keep from saying. "I, um. Got your email. Both of them."</p><p>"So what?" Margo asks. "Is this your RSVP, or are you cocking out on me?"</p><p>Quentin takes a deep breath. "I'm - I'm not sure, honestly."</p><p>"Come on, Q," Margo says, with more patience than she's normally able to muster. "I know last year was... vaguely horrific. But we're all your friends, and what else are you going to do for the holidays? Honestly."</p><p>Quentin blows out a breath. "I just - I'm not ready, Margo," he mutters, running one hand through his hair. "How the fuck am I supposed to <i>be </i>ready?"</p><p>"You'll never be ready if you keep hiding away from us," Margo says. "I'm not saying you have to face them head-on, but you can't run from your problems forever."</p><p>"If he's there, then I'll have to face them head-on," Quentin argues, but it's weak. He sighs again, heavier this time - and says what he knows he was going to once he got to his second glass of wine. "Fine. I'll come."</p><p>Margo sighs. "You're doing the right thing," she tells him. "Nothing bad is going to happen this year."</p><p>"You can't promise that," Quentin argues. </p><p>"It's my damn party, isn't it?" Margo demands. "Have a little faith in me, Coldwater."</p><p>"It was your party last year," Quentin says before he thinks it through. </p><p>But Margo doesn't snap at him. She just takes a long, slow breath, and says, "I know. And that was my bad. I invited you both this year, knowing full well that I would have to work some impressive damage control - but Q, he isn't coming."</p><p>Quentin isn't sure how to take that news; part of him relaxes, like - maybe this won't be such a horrible idea, then, if Quentin doesn't have to see or interact with him. The other part of him wants to know <i>why </i>he isn't coming - but Quentin stamps it down. "Okay," he says after a moment too long. "That's - Well, okay. Everyone else give you their answer yet?"</p><p>"Everyone else is in," Margo says. "You're the last one to answer."</p><p>"Right. Well, um. I guess I'll see you all then."</p><p>"And you're going to have a damn good time," Margo tells him. "We miss you, Q. I miss you. Look after yourself, okay?"</p><p>"Yeah, I will. You too, Margo."</p>
<hr/><p>Quentin finds himself actually looking forward to the holiday get-together; it was a tradition they started at Brakebills, their ragtag group of losers getting together to celebrate the holidays when everyone else was gone. Now that they're all adults, they've managed to keep it going, which is frankly a miracle, even with magic involved to save time and effort for traveling plans. Quentin hadn't <i>really </i>been looking forward to celebrating Christmas on his own for the first time in almost a decade; he would have been with his father, but Ted was going on a lifelong dream vacation to South America this year. </p><p>Still, even with last year's drama, Quentin <i>is </i>looking forward to seeing everyone at the ridiculously luxurious cabin that Margo's rented out for the weekend. He may have been the last to RSVP, but he isn't quite the last one to arrive; Julia, Kady, and Penny are behind him, caught in traffic, which he finds ironic, considering Penny is <i>literally </i>a Traveler. </p><p>It snowed the night before, so Quentin's shoes crunch when he steps out of the Uber, grabbing his bags out of the trunk. When he turns towards the cabin, it looks like something out of a fucking Hallmark movie, just like it did last year - and Margo is already waiting to greet him. Quentin hefts the straps of one bag over his shoulder and makes his way closer, crunching through the snow. "Hey, Margo," he says, smiling. "Cabin looks gorgeous."</p><p>"I know it does," Margo says, with absolutely none of her usual sass. If Quentin didn't know her better, he'd say she looked worried. "Q, listen, I swear I didn't find out until it was too late to warn you."</p><p>"Warn me about what?" Quentin asks, suddenly wary. </p><p>But she doesn't need to answer, because in the next breath the cabin door is opening, spilling warm orange light out onto the snow and revealing the unmistakable shape of Eliot Waugh.</p><p>
  <i>"Q!" Eliot laughed. It was the best sound Quentin had heard all year, followed closely by the crunch of Eliot's footsteps as he tramped through the snow towards him. Quentin had just enough time to drop his bag before Eliot's arms were around him, pulling him in for a tight hug. "I didn't think you were going to make it this year! Weren't you going to spend this Christmas with your dad?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin didn't answer for a moment, hugging Eliot back tightly. "And miss seeing everyone in one place for the first time since last year?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot's answering chuckle reverberated warmly against Quentin's cheek. "You just don't want to sit and watch him being all lovey with his new girlfriend," he said knowingly. He pulled back a moment later, but Quentin didn't have time to miss the heat of him before he slipped an arm around his shoulders. "Come on. I've already got the mulled wine going."</i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Why am I not surprised you're already working on the alcohol," Quentin teased, easily falling into step next to Eliot as they make for the front door. </i>
</p><p>Quentin blinks, and takes a reflexive step back, narrowly missing falling on his ass in the snow. He's saved by Margo's steadying hand on the small of his back, but he doesn't - <i>can't </i>- look at her. "What the <i>hell?</i>" he blurts. </p><p>"Hey, Q," Eliot says, and he at least has the good grace to sound sheepish. "There was a last minute change of plans. I thought--" He glances at Margo. "I thought you'd be with your dad this year."</p><p>Quentin's expression hardens. "I was invited, same as everyone else," he snaps. </p><p>"Of course you were," Eliot says, his eyes wide. "I'm-- glad you're here."</p><p>Quentin barely manages to bite back his retort to that. "Right. Well, it's - been a surprise," he bites out, and manages to dodge Margo's hand as he turns back to the driveway. He's already pulling his phone out, ready to text Julia and ask Penny to come take him back to his apartment. "Sorry, Margo, but I think I'd rather just spend the weekend at home. I didn't sign up for this."</p><p>"Q, wait--"</p><p>Quentin ignores him in favor of focusing on his phone, but before he can pull up Julia's number he's blinded by bright white lights that can only be car headlights. Thanking God for small mercies, Quentin stuffs his phone back into his pocket and, as the car pulls up neatly in front of the cabin, makes a beeline for it.</p><p>Julia is the first one out of the car. "Fancy seeing you here, Coldwater," she says, all smiles and open arms - but then she catches sight of the look on Quentin's face, and her gaze slides past him to the open door of the cabin. Her own grin drops. "Oh, fuck."</p><p>"Yeah," Quentin sighs. "Can I steal your boyfriend for a quick trip home? I really don't think it's a good idea to stay here."</p><p>To Quentin's dismay, however, Julia's expression hardens. "Absolutely not," she hisses. "You are not letting him chase you away. It's Christmas, we're your family, and you <i>belong</i> here."</p><p>"I don't belong anywhere <i>he </i>is," Quentin hisses back. "He made that perfectly clear over the past year."</p><p>"Well then the same goes for the rest of us," Julia argues. "If anything, he's the one who doesn't belong here. We're all still mad at him, Q."</p><p>"Well then what the hell do you suggest?" Quentin bites out. "You know Margo isn't going to let us kick him out."</p><p>"I suggest you come inside and have a great Christmas with us," Julia says. "I swear to God I will keep him away from you. I'll even share a room with you, these guys won't mind. I'll hex him if I have to."</p><p>Quentin wavers. "Are you sure?"</p><p>"I won't let you down," Julia vows. "If he so much as breathes in your direction, I'll curse his dick off."</p><p>Quentin worries his lip for a moment before he finally nods. "Okay," he says. "I - I really don't want to talk to him. At all."</p><p>"You won't have to," Julia promises. "Come on. Penny can Travel the bags in, let's go inside."</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Quentin nods. His grip tightens on the strap of his bag for a moment before he hands it over to Penny who gives him an uncharacteristically concerned look before disappearing. Quentin blows out a breath, and squares his shoulders. "Okay, let's go in."</p><p>Julia holds his hand right up to the door, but even that doesn't stop Eliot from approaching them as soon as they get inside the cabin. "Q, please, let me just--"</p><p>"Go <i>fuck</i> yourself, Waugh," Julia snarls, savage and ferocious and deadly. "Come near him again and you'll still be pissing blood <i>next</i> Christmas."</p><p>She doesn't even give him a chance to retort, just literally barges past him and drags Quentin through the cabin to the double room he usually claims.</p><p>Quentin doesn't look back, and only relaxes once the door is shut and locked behind them. Julia gives him a questioning look, and Quentin does his best to give her a reassuring smile as they turn towards their bags and start unpacking. He probably doesn't quite succeed, since she keeps finding excuses to step in close, to touch his shoulder or brush her arm against his. Quentin's not exactly complaining, though; he feels like he'll fly from his skin if something doesn't hold him together. </p><p>They take their time getting unpacked, but they can't hide in Quentin's room all weekend - and Quentin doesn't want to. He <i>does </i>want to see everyone, he's been looking forward to that since he hasn't seen any of them since last Christmas. Julia doesn't ask if he's ready with words when they stand by the door; they've been friends - family - for too long. Quentin just nods in answer to her silent question, and opens the door. </p><p>
  <i>Quentin left the room quickly, hurriedly; he didn't want to spend too long in that room with its double bed, the reminder that - He shook his head, clearing it, and opened his eyes just in time to see Eliot round the corner, two glasses of wine in his hands. "Hey," Quentin said, and he knew his smile was tired, worn. "One of those for me?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot treated him to a warm grin. "Obviously," he said, and pressed one of them into Quentin's hand. The glass was warm against his skin, the wine inside steaming gently. "Come sit with me. It's been months, I want to know everything."</i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was tempting, the way the promise of any time spent with Eliot was, but... "I don't know."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot's expression softened in understanding. "It's just us," he said. "Our resident thrupple are busy getting it on in the California king - and Margo is keeping Alice busy.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin relaxed at that, and even managed to give Eliot a smile. "Well, lead on, then."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot led Quentin over to a loveseat by the fire and they settled into it. It took some careful arrangement to fold Eliot's giant body into it comfortably, and in the end they wound up with Quentin nestled against him, Eliot's legs thrown over his lap. Eliot waved his free hand and a blanket folded over the back of another sofa floated over to drape across the both of them. The smile Eliot gave him then was radiant, and Quentin had never felt warmer. "So," he said, sipping delicately at his wine. "How's my little bookstore owner, really?"</i>
</p><p>Quentin shakes his head, grateful for the feeling of Julia's hand in his as they walk down the hall and back into the living room. Everyone else has already gathered there - including Eliot. Quentin barely has a moment to falter at that, though, before Julia tugs him over towards the couch, fitting him between her and Penny, Kady perched on the arm of the couch on Julia's other side. Quentin goes without complaint, and once he's settled to Julia's satisfaction, he turns back to the others, giving Margo a small smile and the same to Alice. "It's good to see you," he says, a little awkward but earnest. </p><p>"You too," Alice says, just as awkward and just as earnest. She pushes her glasses further up her nose. "How's the store?"</p><p>"Doing well," Quentin answers, relaxing a little. "We had a good holiday season sale, lots of interesting books coming out that people wanted."</p><p>Alice's answering smile is warm with genuine affection. "I'm glad."</p><p>"Me, too," Quentin sighs. "I was kind of worried, because what do I know about running a bookstore, but..."</p><p>"It suits your whole - <i>supernerdy </i>thing," Kady interjects with a laugh. "I always figured you'd like, go into book restoration or something, given your discipline."</p><p>Eliot actually opens his mouth to say something about that, but Julia shoots him a quelling look so fast and so ferocious that Quentin can imagine how quickly he shrinks back into his shell. It would be funny to watch, except Quentin can't quite bring himself to look directly at him. Instead, he gives Kady a slightly-strained smile before turning back to Alice. "How's your research coming? That internship at the Library helping?"</p><p>"Oh, it's great," Alice says. "I'm learning so much. I..." She swallows, uncomfortable. "I'm really loving it."</p><p>"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Quentin says, determined not to let the reminder of the final straw trip them up too much. "What about you, Margo, how's the Hanson doing?"</p><p>"What do you think?" Margo asks. "I'm making more money than I know what to do with, and I look damn good doing it. We've got Magicians coming from all over the world."</p><p>The others pick up the conversation from there, and Quentin lets it wash over him. He finally feels himself start to relax, buffered by the chatter of his friends who don't expect anything from him, least of all an ability to keep up with them. He can still feel Eliot's gaze on him, but shielded by Julia and bathed in the warmth of the fire, he can almost ignore it. It's as close as he's going to get to calm tonight, anyway.</p><p>
  <i>Quentin had felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin ever since he stepped foot in this cabin, but with the fire on one side and the warm weight of Eliot on the other, he could feel himself starting to thaw out a little. Eliot was talking to him in a low voice, having extracted what little he could from Quentin about his up-and-coming bookstore and taken over the weight of the conversation for himself. He didn't even really know what Eliot was talking about anymore, just that the timbre of his voice was incredibly soothing, as was the hand that Eliot was currently rubbing rhythmically over his knee beneath the blanket.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But then a door opened somewhere in the cabin, and Quentin looked over just in time to see Alice walking into the living area, followed closely by a sheepish-looking Margo. Shit.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Of course, Alice's gaze was drawn to them straight away, and then almost immediately dropped to the blanket, disturbed by the movement of Eliot's hand. Double shit.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin swallowed hard at the judgemental look on Alice's expression, placing his hand over Eliot's to still it. "Hi, Alice," he says. "Nice to see you."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You too," Alice said, her gaze lingering a little too pointedly on Eliot. "I wasn't sure you would make it." Somehow it sounded worse than when Eliot said it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I've been busy," Quentin said defensively, "but I wouldn't miss seeing our friends."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I just thought you might want to see your dad," Alice bit back. "You know, after--"</i>
</p><p><i>"Please," Eliot said, almost snarled, "do not try to guilt him for not spending the holidays at home. Ted is </i>fine<i>. I know you're still in the group chat."</i></p><p>
  <i>"I already saw him, and he knows that we do this every year," Quentin snapped, unable to help himself. "He's okay, enough for me to go away for a few days."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Fine," Alice said, haughty and annoyed. "I was just saying. But it's your life, you can do what you want."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot sneered. "Quentin is the only one of us that actually has a good relationship with his parents. I don't think you're in the position to judge at all."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Hey - " Quentin started, only to be cut off by Margo. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Both of you need to take a chill pill," she snapped. "Seriously, this isn't why we're here, so you two can get into a catfight over every little thing."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I just don't understand why he thinks this is any of his business," Alice sniped.</i>
</p><p><i>"</i>Quentin<i> is my business," Eliot snapped.</i></p><p><i>"Eliot's my friend, Alice, he always has been," Quentin said, attempting to sound firm and missing the mark by a mile. "We're kind of each others' business, the way </i>all <i>of us here are."</i></p><p>
  <i>Alice sniffed. "Well," she said. "I was just trying to say that I'm glad you're here. It wouldn't be the same without you."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot squeezed Quentin's knee.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin took a deep breath, and gave Alice a slightly-strained smile. "I appreciate that," he said. "I'm glad to be here, even with all of... this year."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Alice smiled back, but didn't say anything else before the others came in and made themselves comfortable on the other couches. Margo and, after a moment's hesitation, Alice joined them, and Julia swiftly took over the conversation, much of the lingering awkwardness melting away as she praised Margo on her finding the cabin and started to make plans to decorate the following day. Quentin didn't really join in, only offering his opinion when it was asked for, but he was happy to let the others take the lead while he sipped his wine.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot's hand didn't leave his knee for quite a while.</i>
</p>
<hr/><p>Quentin wakes up to Mariah Carey soulfully announcing that she doesn't want a lot for Christmas at a volume that <i>has</i> to be magically enhanced, and then his bedroom door slams open to reveal Margo, belting right along with her. He barely has enough time to register all of this and the fact that he's alone, Julia must have gotten up without him, before he's being treated to his very own private show. Margo, still belting, shimmies right up to the bed - and rips the covers off of him.</p><p>"Get up!" she roars over the music. "It's Christmas Eve, bitch!"</p><p>Quentin whines pathetically, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his face. "It's Christmas Eve <i>morning,</i>" he groans. "What fucking time is it, anyway?"</p><p>"Eleven!" Margo yells. "You're not sleeping the day away because you're in a depression hole!"</p><p>"<i>Fuck's </i>sake, fine," Quentin shouts back, tossing his pillow away to glare balefully at Margo. "Can I get dressed before you drag me out for whatever decoration madness you've got planned?"</p><p>Margo grins, and dances back over to the door so she can slam it shut. As soon as she does, the blaring music muffles, like they're standing across the street from an underground bar. "Of course you can," she says, at a perfectly reasonable volume. "You can even have ten minutes. And you can quit trying to crawl out of your skin; we're only decorating the cabin, and Eliot has other duties to attend to."</p><p>Quentin sighs. "I'd ask if it's that obvious, but..." He gestures towards Julia's make-up bag on the dresser. </p><p>Margo shrugs. "He knows he's still in the doghouse," she says. "With all of us. But I couldn't turn him away." She looks genuinely sorry. "He's family, and it's Christmas."</p><p>"I know," Quentin says - because he does. It's part of why it had hurt so much when... "I'm not mad at you. Or at him, really. Just wish that he'd given you a little more warning so you could warn me."</p><p>"I'd have called you if there'd been time," Margo tells him seriously. "I'd have called you a wilting cock for backing out, but I'd have told you."</p><p>Quentin uses the excuse of rummaging through his things for a shirt to gather his thoughts. "I... I don't know if I would have backed out," he says slowly. "If I hadn't been surprised with him being here, if I could've - I don't know, prepared."</p><p>Margo's expression softens. "Still," she says. "I'm sorry. And I don't apologise often, so make the most of it. Hurry up."</p><p>Quentin smiles, tugging his shirt on over his head and changing into a pair of jeans before he moves towards the door. He reaches out, wraps an arm around Margo's shoulders, and pulls her in so he can press a kiss to her cheek. "I love and appreciate you, Queen Margo the Destroyer," he says, smiling as he lets her go. "I'll never tell anyone you apologized to me, don't worry."</p><p>"This is why I like you so much," Margo says, approving. "Even if you are moderately socially maladjusted. Now come on. You missed Kady bringing in the tree. It was very sexy."</p><p>"Damn," Quentin sighs. "By herself?"</p><p>"Yup," Margo says. "I know you have a huge competency kink."</p><p>"Well you don't have to come right out and <i>say </i>it," Quentin complains playfully, reaching for the door. "Let’s go; better get out there before Julia and Alice murder each other over the best places to put ornaments."</p><p>"Say what you want," Margo says, smirking, "that sounds hot to me."</p><p>
  <i>The others were all up and dressed by the time Quentin emerged from his room, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Eliot twisted to give him a bright smile before turning back to the garlands he was weaving intricately over the mantlepiece, and he had a second to fully embrace the butterflies in his stomach before Julia quite literally grabbed him.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Q, back me up here," she said, pulling him over to the huge tree in the corner of the room. "We need to decorate the tree ourselves, right? Without magic."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin blinked. "What? Why is that a question?"</i>
</p><p><i>"Because </i>someone<i> thinks we should just do it all with magic and get it over with," Julia said, sticking her tongue out at Kady.</i></p><p>
  <i>"I have been no help," Eliot offered brightly. "I can see both sides."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You just want to watch the chaos," Quentin accused, laughing. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Can you blame us?" Margo asked, smirking. "A catfight would be hot."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"No complaints here," Penny added. "But I wouldn't decorate at all, if I had the choice."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You disgust me," Kady told him, with utmost sincerity.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin snorted, and when his gaze met Alice's, they managed to exchange slightly-strained smiles. "Well, we always decorated for Christmas by hand," Alice offered. "But we decorated for all of the other holidays my parents celebrate with magic. They said something about 'family bonding time.'"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Exactly!" Julia crowed. "We need that!"</i>
</p><p><i>"We did plenty of </i>bonding<i> all the times we nearly blew ourselves up or got kicked out at Brakebills," Kady argued.</i></p><p>
  <i>Penny leered. "We did plenty last night."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin made a face. "First of all, gross - "</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Margo's leer matched Penny's. "I think you mean hot."</i>
</p><p><i>"</i>Second of all,<i> that doesn't count for our weird little family as a whole," Quentin continued as if Margo hadn't spoken, earning himself an annoyed look. "I think we should decorate the tree by hand, at least."</i></p><p>
  <i>Kady rolled her eyes. "Fine. But if it looks like shit I'm redoing it with magic overnight."</i>
</p><p>Quentin and Margo walk into the annual Ornament Argument; Julia and Alice are practically squaring off in the living room, and Quentin carefully picks a seat right in the middle of the room - and right next to Penny. Kady, of course, is sitting closer to Julia, while Margo gleefully takes the seat closest to Alice right as Julia throws her hands in the air. "You can't hang too many bulky ornaments at the top of the tree!" she insists. "Then it gets all cluttered, and top-heavy!"</p><p>"But those ornaments are the nicest," Alice argues. "Why hide them at the bottom of the tree when you could display them near the top?"</p><p>"She's got a point," Quentin says, giving Julia an apologetic look when she glares at him, betrayed. "But maybe you could like. Spread them out? So it's balanced, y'know? Not all cluttered at the top."</p><p>"Does it even fucking matter?" Kady asks. There's a smudge of dirt on her forehead. "We're taking it all down in two days anyway."</p><p>Julia whips around to glare at her girlfriend. "It's <i>Christmas,</i>" she hisses. "Of course it fucking matters!"</p><p>Kady raises her hands in surrender. "Okay, jeez."</p><p>Penny seems to take pity on Julia and Kady despite his infamous anti-decorating stance, since Margo clearly isn't going to step in anytime soon, if the delighted look on her face is anything to go by. "I think Coldwater has the right idea," he says. "Spread 'em out, put the big ones on first, and then put the little ones on around them."</p><p>"Fine," Alice says, getting to her feet. "We'd better make a start, then."</p><p>So they make a start. Everyone tackles the Christmas tree with even more determination than they did last year, and it doesn't take Quentin long to realise that it's because Operation Distract Quentin is well underway. They bicker with even more ferocity than normal, and sing Christmas songs even more obnoxiously, and disagree on just about every detail. It gets overbearing pretty quick, but there's not a lot he can do about it. Margo is keeping a sharp eye on him in case he tries to slink off, and Julia is sticking close to his side.</p><p>Still, as they start up yet another argument, this time about which wreaths to hang on which doors, Quentin decides enough is enough. The others won't tolerate him escaping to his room, and Eliot has, presumably, been told to stay far the fuck away from Quentin and the main areas of the cottage, right? At this point he's willing to take the risk. He announces that he's stepping out to get a drink; only Margo seems to hear him over the din of raised voices and aggressive Christmas music, but he makes a dash for the relative safety of the kitchen before he can process the look on her face.</p><p>He's hoping that Eliot will be decorating the outside of the cabin or something; unfortunately, as soon as he ducks into the kitchen, Quentin spots Eliot leaning against a counter, his phone in his hand, and freezes. "Um."</p><p>Eliot looks up sharply, apparently just as startled. "Quentin," he says. "Were you looking for-- something?"</p><p>Quentin gestures jerkily towards the fridge. "Just a. A bottle of water. While they're out there killing each other over which wreath to put on which door." His gaze never leaves Eliot - until he makes it, practically his entire body flinching with the force of it as he looks at the fridge and starts towards it. Thankfully, it's closer to Quentin that it is to Eliot.</p><p>Caught off guard, it takes Eliot a lot longer than Quentin expected it to, but it's still only a matter of seconds before his mouth is opening and he's starting forward, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach out. "Q, can you just--"</p><p>Quentin, having rushed to grab his water from the fridge before Eliot could say anything else, all but slams the door shut. "<i>No,</i>" he snaps. "No, I can't <i>just </i>anything, Waugh. Not after <i>you </i>were <i>just </i>so busy you couldn't - " Quentin cuts himself off, almost literally biting his tongue, and shakes his head. "Just - Just <i>no,</i> Eliot," he mutters, turning back to the doorway without looking at Eliot - if he does, he might break. </p><p>He isn't quite fast enough to escape before Eliot manages to call his name one last, desperate time. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <i>"Quentin! Pass the mashed potatoes," Eliot laughed, his laughter growing louder when Margo snapped her fingers under Quentin's nose and made him startle. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Sorry, lost in thought," he chuckled, reaching for the bowl, "but aren't you supposed to be telekinetic? You could've gotten them yourself."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I've had far too much to drink," Eliot laughed. "My coordination is shot. If you want to be covered in potato, sure."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Mashed potatoes on his face might be an improvement," Penny mused, laughing when Julia smacked him on the shoulder. </i>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p><i>"It would </i>not,<i>" she protested. "Don't listen to him, Q, you're perfect just the way you are."</i></p><p>
  <i>"I mean," Eliot said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at Quentin over the rim of his wine glass, "she's not wrong."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin stuck his tongue out at Eliot, but couldn't ignore the warmth in his cheeks at Eliot's words. </i>
</p><p>Fingers snapping right below his nose make him startle, and he follows the hand to see Julia's worried expression. "Sorry," he says reflexively, giving her a half-smile. "Got lost in thought."</p><p>"You're telling me," she replies. "Q, are you sure you're okay to do dinner with everyone? I won't mind eating with you in the living room, or kicking him out."</p><p>Quentin's smile grows at that, and he reaches up to take Julia's hand in his, squeezing gently. "I appreciate that, but I didn't come here to hide from him. I could've just insisted on going home. I'm okay, really. I'm sure nobody will let him sit too close, anyway."</p><p>Julia smiles at that, squeezing his hand back. "You're damn right. Come on, I told Kady to save you a seat between us."</p><p>"I feel safer already," Quentin jokes, following Julia into the dining room. </p><p>Even as reluctant to acknowledge anything related to Eliot's existence as he is right now, Quentin has to admit the spread before him is impressive. It's not exactly traditional, but what is on Christmas Eve? Laid out on the huge oak table is an incredible-looking selection of cured meat, garlic prawns, smoked sausage, sundried tomatoes, olives, cheese - light, crumbly feta and melty, gooey camembert - and freshly-baked bread, each place setting accompanied by crystal glasses filled with sparkling wine. It's clear that most of the work here has gone into the presentation rather than the preparation, which means that either Eliot has just been hiding out in the kitchen all day, or he's been <i>baking</i>.</p><p>"El, sweetie, this looks great," Margo says as she takes her seat beside him, like she's reading Quentin's fucking mind. He glances in their direction just long enough to see that Eliot has been seated - or has seated himself? - as far away from Quentin as it's possible to get. "Not your best effort, maybe, but still. Who doesn't love jamon serrano dipped in melted cheese?"</p><p>"Your backhanded compliments are divine as always, Bambi," Eliot says. Quentin can hear the smile in his voice, fuck. "But I thought my efforts today were best spent on dessert."</p><p>That catches everyone's interest as they settle into their seats, but no one comments as they start loading up their plates. Quentin focuses on grabbing some of the feta before Penny hoards it all for himself, passing plates when asked. Once everyone's plate is full, Julia starts talking. "So, Margo, we were thinking about taking a vacation next year, since we haven't had a chance for a big one ever since Kady got promoted. Any chance we could get the friends and family discount at the Hanson?"</p><p>Margo rolls her eyes. "As if you have to ask," she says. "Just give me some dates and I'll make sure a killer suite is free."</p><p>Julia beams, and even Penny gives Margo a slightly-less-sardonic smile. "Thanks," Julia says, and the conversation shifts focus to Alice and her research. Quentin takes the opportunity to surreptitiously glance at Eliot, guilt thick on the back of his tongue but unable to stop himself. He looks... different. Good - he always looks good - but different. His vest and tie are a maroon so deep it's almost black, his shirt a dark, charcoal grey; his hair is longer than Quentin has ever seen it and is curling, apparently untamed, just above his shoulders; his eyes are tired, the lines underneath them more pronounced, like maybe he's been picking up more hours at work than he should again; but his smiles are as easy as they always are, his laughter just as bright though perhaps slower to come than last year, as he chats mostly to Margo between bites, but not sips. His wine glass is mostly untouched. All this Quentin processes in a single heartbeat, before he hastily looks away.</p><p>That one glance isn't enough, though - Quentin finds himself looking back at Eliot more than once as dinner continues, as he talks with everyone <i>but</i> Eliot. He even spends some time talking with Alice - mostly about which books he should really look into stocking for the 'occult' section of his store, the section that caters to mundane and real magic alike - and while it's slightly stilted, it's far better than last year's conversations were. Hell, it's better conversation than they've had in more than two years, honestly. It makes him hopeful that they can find their way back to being friends again soon.</p><p>As promised, Eliot spent far more time on desserts than on the main meal; there's pies of various flavors, cookies, brownies, and even fudge in the parade of serving dishes he leads from the kitchen once everyone's finished with their food. The group migrates to the living room once everyone's gotten dessert, and they pass a few more hours with conversation, food, and drink. Quentin still sneaks far too many glances at Eliot, but as the wine he drinks settles warm in his blood, he lets go of some of the guilt. Eliot's always been attractive, Quentin's freely acknowledged this ever since the day they met. Just because Eliot was a dick last year doesn't erase the fact that he's still easily the most handsome man Quentin's ever seen. Maybe his behavior makes that fact a little more infuriating, but Quentin's not about to voice his thoughts, so he's safe.</p><p>Or at least, he is until after dessert, after Penny and Kady disappear down the hallway to their bedroom with none-too-subtle looks sent Julia's way. Quentin and Julia were heading for the room they shared the night before, but Quentin pauses outside the door. "You know, if they've got something planned for Christmas Eve for you, you can spend the night with them," he says, a little awkwardly. "I'll be fine for one night."</p><p>Julia frowns. "I'd be more convinced by that if you hadn't gone green earlier when you saw him in the kitchen," she says. "I live with them. Whatever they have planned can wait."</p><p>"I'm just going to get a shower and go to bed, maybe read a bit before I go to sleep," Quentin says. "I'm pretty sure he's gotten the message that I don't want anything to do with him."</p><p>"But that doesn't mean that <i>you're</i> okay," Julia argues.</p><p>Quentin can't help his fond smile. "I love you, Jules. But seriously, I'm just going to get a shower, read for a bit, and then go to sleep. I'll be okay for a night."</p><p>Finally, Quentin sees some hesitation creeping into Julia's expression. "...Are you sure?"</p><p>"I'm sure," Quentin says, reaching out to pull Julia in for a hug. "I'll even lock the door."</p><p>"Okay," Julia whispers, squeezing Quentin tight. "If you need me, just yell, okay?"</p><p>"I will," Quentin promises, smiling as he presses a kiss to Julia's temple. "Go have fun."</p><p>"Thanks, Q," Julia says, and steps back. "Goodnight."</p><p>"Goodnight," Quentin says, and watches her disappear down the hall before he closes the door. True to his word, he locks it behind her, and tries to ignore the looming sense of foreboding as he turns back to the empty room.</p><p>
  <i>"You look like you could use a drink." Eliot's kind, warm voice drifted to him as though from a great distance, but when Quentin blinked and looked up it was to find the man himself standing beside the loveseat, a glass of red wine in each hand. It was true, Quentin could use a drink; the others were all outside, wrapped up in blankets and drinking wine and mulled cider around the fire pit, but Quentin just couldn't bring himself to join them. He felt disconnected from everything this year - but Eliot had always been good at drawing him back from the darkest parts of his mind with a soft smile and a gentle word. It was something they'd found endlessly useful at Brakebills, and a trick he clearly hadn't forgotten since. "Mind if I join you?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin shifted over, mustering up a small smile. "Not at all," he answered, patting the cushion beside him. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot handed over one of the glasses and squashed his ridiculous self into the space Quentin made for him. "So," he said, "I guess I don't need to ask what we're doing, hiding away from all of our friends on Christmas night." He blinked at Quentin, earnest and sincere in a way he so rarely was. "You look sad."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin snorted as he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a long sip. "What gave it away?" he asked dryly. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot spared him the indignity of a direct answer. "I'm sorry," he said instead, reaching out to squeeze Quentin's ankle where his feet were curled up between them. His hand was warm and solid, and he just... left it there. "I know this isn't easy for you, and I know I've probably been making it worse. It's a little late in the day, but I swear I'll behave if you want to go out there."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin frowned, looking up at Eliot in confusion. "What do you mean, 'making it worse'?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot shrugged. "I haven't exactly been very nice to Alice this week."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Oh, that." Quentin didn't answer for a moment, gaze falling back to his glass. "I mean. You could be a little nicer? It's not her fault we split, really. We just... grew into different people than we thought we would be in Brakebills,  or when we got married."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I know that," Eliot said gently. "I just... She's been a little hard on you since you got here, and, well. I've always been Team Quentin."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin smiled, meeting Eliot's gaze again. "I know. And I appreciate it," he said softly. "It’s just - You know how prickly she can get when she's defensive. I think that's mostly why she's acting like this; we haven't seen each other since it was all finalized. But it'll get better, I think. We'll take some time apart, see about maybe going back to being friends next year."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I certainly think that's achievable," Eliot offered. "I also think Julia would kill me if she knew I was letting you hide out in here without giving you another option, or at least keeping you company."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin laughed at that. "She would," he concedes. "But you are keeping me company, so I think you're safe."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Then by all means," Eliot said, "drink up. There's plenty more where that came from."</i>
</p><p>Towel and toiletry bag in hand, Quentin makes his way down the hall towards the bathroom. It’s not a long walk, but it’s long enough for him to realize that the rest of the cabin has gone quiet. Christmas music still floats down the hall, along with the sound of Alice and Margo’s voices; Quentin doesn’t hear Eliot at the moment, but he doesn’t let himself think on how that makes him feel for too long. He slips into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind himself before he sets his things on the counter. A brief tut gets the shower started, and Quentin studiously avoids looking in the mirror as he gets undressed and grabs his things from the bag, taking them into the stall with him.</p><p>When the warm, nearly-hot water hits him, Quentin lets out a shuddering sigh, some last lingering bit of tension dropping from his shoulders at the heat and feel of the lovely water pressure beating against his skin. He doesn’t think about much of anything, just lets his mind drift as he quickly soaps up his hair. Once his hair is taken care of, Quentin squeezes some shower gel onto a washcloth and starts on the rest of his body, mind wandering even further. He doesn’t even realize when his movements slow, memory overtaking him as he remembers - </p><p>
  <i>At some point, they’d migrated off of the loveseat and onto the floor in front of the fireplace. Warmth poured from it, washing over Quentin, but it didn’t compare to the heat of Eliot’s arm pressed against his as they sat together, drinking and talking as the rest of their group began trickling inside, heading for their respective bedrooms. Margo was the last, and she’d given Eliot some look that Quentin was just tipsy enough to pretend he couldn’t understand before she’d leaned down to kiss the top of Eliot’s head and ruffle Quentin’s hair in a silent goodnight.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And just like that, they were alone.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin smiled into his glass, swirling it idly. “This kind of reminds me of Brakebills,” he muses. “All those nights we got drunk on the couch by the bar.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"The best nights," Eliot agreed with a wistful smile. "We don't do that nearly enough anymore."</i>
</p><p><i>"We can't," Quentin laughed, leaning into Eliot. "Our bodies won't let us." He sighed, then, mind wandering - and then took his courage in his teeth. "Lot of things </i>I<i> wouldn't let myself do back then," he murmured, swirling his glass before carefully setting it to the side. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment - and then let his hand slide over Eliot's. "Hey."</i></p><p>
  <i>Eliot turned slowly to look at him, his eyes wide with surprise, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. He set his wine glass down, too. "Hey," he murmured.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Before he could lose his nerve, Quentin ducked in, closing the distance between them - and pressed his lips to Eliot's a soft, swift kiss. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>The surprised breath that Eliot let out against Quentin's mouth tasted like wine, but when Quentin pulled back Eliot was smiling, kind of dazed but pleased, so pleased. Eliot's hand beneath Quentin's twisted, fingers curling around his wrist, and then Eliot's other hand found the back of his neck and guided him back in.</i>
</p><p>Quentin's breath shudders, the washcloth nearly slipping from his finely-trembling fingers when his touch grazes the skin at the base of his cock. He's hard, he realizes - and after a moment's hesitation, he wraps his fingers around himself. </p><p><i>Quentin leaned into the second kiss eagerly, all but melting against Eliot. "</i>El,<i>" he gasped, when they parted again. "El, please - "</i></p><p><i>"Yeah," Eliot sighed, pulling him closer, hardly conducive to what Quentin </i>wanted<i>. But then he was pushing him away, putting enough distance between them only to grab Quentin's hand. "Yeah, c'mon."</i></p><p>
  <i>Quentin went without hesitation, and couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed about the fact that he was already hard. The trip down the hallway passed in a blur of kisses and hands touching, roaming; Quentin didn’t even realize Eliot had led them to his room until his back was against the door. "Fuck," he sighed, fingers tightening in Eliot's hair for a brief moment. "Fuck, Eliot - The bed's right there, I want - want to see - "</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Yeah," Eliot gasped. He groped blindly for the doorhandle, trying to get it open without taking his mouth off of Quentin's for more than a second. "Yeah, fuck. Wanna-- get my hands all over you."</i>
</p><p>Quentin's hand slips over his cock, his hips twitching - </p><p>
  <i>Quentin's back hit the mattress the same time his shirt hit the floor, and he eagerly welcomed the weight of Eliot on top of him, pulling him closer. "You can do your shirt buttons," he mumbled, hands already drifting down to Eliot's pants. "I'd rip 'em."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"But that means not touching you," Eliot complained, even as he squeezed Quentin's hips, dragging him in tighter against him. "Fuck, Q..."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Later," Quentin gasped - </i>
</p><p>Quentin presses the heel of his palm against his cock, rocks into the pressure even as he bites at the knuckles of his other hand, curled into a fist, to muffle himself. It feels - </p><p>
  <i>"So good," Eliot sighed, sinking his fingers into Quentin's hair. Quentin half expected him to fall back against the pillows, but he held himself up on one elbow instead, like he was starving for the sight of Quentin's mouth on his cock.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin glanced up, and - </i>
</p><p> -  he moans, unable to help himself - </p><p><i> - and bobbed his head, taking as much of Eliot's cock in as he could while still maintaining eye contact, wanting, </i>needing, <i>to see every reaction on Eliot's face. </i></p><p>
  <i>Eliot didn't disappoint. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he swore colourfully, even as he tugged at Quentin's hair. "Careful Q. Don't-- don't push. Fuck... "</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Quentin didn't push it; Eliot's cock was bigger than any he'd taken before, and it had been a long time since he'd had any cock in his mouth. He brought up his hand to stroke what his mouth couldn't take, starting slow. </i>
</p><p>Quentin's hand mimics his memories, and he widens his stance, his free hand moving from his mouth to the wall, bracing himself as he remembers - </p><p><i>"God, Eliot," he sighed, fingers combing through Eliot's hair before he hauled Eliot in for another searing kiss, the kind he couldn't get enough of. "Your fucking </i>hands,<i> Jesus."</i> </p><p>
  <i>"That's it," Eliot panted, his breath hot on Quentin's lips. "That's it, baby. You're so good, Q, you're so fucking--"</i>
</p><p>Quentin's hand speeds up, jerking himself almost roughly as the pressure and heat in his gut wind tighter and tighter the closer he gets to the edge. </p><p>
  <i>"God, I want you," Eliot gasped, low and urgent, his hand working desperately between them. "I've always wanted you, Q, I've always wanted this."</i>
</p><p><i>Quentin moaned, pulling Eliot in closer as his back arched and he spilled over Eliot's hand. "</i>Eliot,<i>" he gasped. "El, I - I - Me, too, </i>fuck,<i> me, too."</i></p><p>Quentin's orgasm all but takes his legs out from under him. He barely manages to keep himself to a low moan as he comes, and bows his head, letting the hot water beat against his shoulders and wash his come down the drain. He finishes his shower quickly after that, shame making a hot, tight ball form in the pit of his stomach that only burns all the brighter for the cold air that hits him as he steps out of the shower.</p><p>
  <i>The sunlight was what woke him, streaming through his window to fall across his eyes. The second thing, the thing that shocked him to full wakefulness, was the cold sheets on the other side of the bed. Quentin’s eyes flew open, and his breath caught in his chest; he remembered falling asleep with Eliot beside him, but - </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot was gone. Had been gone for a while, apparently.</i>
</p><p><i>Quentin swallowed down his panic; Eliot had made a big deal the day before about the flight he had to catch this morning to make some big important consult on… Maybe a house? Quentin vaguely remembered him bitching about an impatient client who didn’t understand that even magically-reinforced architecture had to follow the basic laws of physics. That was probably where he’d gone; it wasn’t like he’d been… </i>planning<i> on fucking Quentin, it probably threw his schedule off. Quentin fished his phone from the nightstand, and thumbed over to Eliot’s thread, sending off a quick text. <b>Hey, hope you caught your flight, last minute portals are a bitch. Let me know when you land!</b></i></p><p>
  <i>Putting his phone down, Quentin pushed himself to his feet and started getting ready for the last day at the cabin. He’d hear from Eliot soon enough, and then they could talk.</i>
</p><p>Quentin’s phone is the first thing that catches his eye when he gets back to his room, but he ignores it for the moment in favor of getting dressed. When he picks it up, he sees a text from his dad, wishing him a merry Christmas Eve, and reminding him to get to sleep early so that Santa could come by. Smiling, Quentin sends back an affirmative and returns the sentiment - but the smile drops off of his face when he hits the ‘back’ button and sees his list of text threads - including the one he, for some masochistic reason, never deleted.</p><p>
  <b>El: Let’s just save the overthinking for buildings and bookstores, all right?</b>
</p><p>Swallowing heavily, and kind of hating himself, Quentin opens up the thread, and has to close his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply at the sight of that stupid long string of texts he’d sent Eliot in the months between Christmas and the time Eliot finally replied. They’re always days apart, and variations of asking if Eliot’s okay and trying to pretend nothing’s wrong, sending Eliot memes or short stories about some of his more ridiculous customers, but the last one…</p><p>
  <b>Hey, El; I know you probably don’t want to like. Talk about emotions, but. Can you please call me? Or even just fucking text me back? It’s been *months,* and I - I can’t stop thinking about what it means. I don’t want to think the worst, since you aren’t answering, but. You know how my brain gets. Can you please quit with the radio silence and talk to me so we can sort this out?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>El: Let’s just save the overthinking for buildings and bookstores, all right?</b>
</p><p>Quentin is still staring down at his black phone screen when a tentative knock on the door almost startles him into dropping it. He sighs, and gets to his feet. "Jules, I told you, I'm fine," he's saying, even before he's got the door open, but the words die in his throat once he has.</p><p>Eliot is standing out in the hall, looking tired and anxious in just his slacks and his shirt, his vest, tie and shoes long gone. "Hey," he says. "I'm sorry to just..." He swallows audibly. "Please can we talk?"</p><p>Quentin's answer is the <i>smack </i>of the door settling back into its jamb - and the <i>snick </i> of the lock. "Fuck <i>off,</i> Eliot," he snaps through the door. "What the fuck else do we need to do to get that through your head?"</p><p>"Q, I know you don't want to talk to me," Eliot says, his voice only slightly muffled by the wood of the door. "I wouldn't want to talk to me, either. I just. I owe you an explanation - and the mother of all apologies. If you give me five minutes, I swear I'll never bother you again."</p><p>Quentin lets his forehead drop to the wood of the door, taking in a deep breath before he unlocks the door and yanks it open. "Five minutes," he says stiffly. </p><p>"Thank you," Eliot says. He steps past Quentin into the room, but then seems to flounder. "Um. Do you want to sit?"</p><p>"I'd rather just get this over with," Quentin says tersely, shutting the door and crossing his arms over his chest. </p><p>Eliot nods, looks away. "I deserve that," he says. "I deserve... a lot worse. What I did to you last year was unforgivable, I know that."</p><p>"Yeah, it was pretty goddamn shitty," Quentin snaps. "If that's all you're going to say - "</p><p>"It's not," Eliot says, quickly, a desperate edge creeping into his tone. "Quentin, I'm... <i>so</i> sorry."</p><p>"Well you could've fucking <i>acted like it,</i>" Quentin bursts out. "At <i>any </i>point in the past goddamn year, you could've acted like you were actually sorry for fucking <i>ditching </i>me right after we fucked, and then dropping off the face of the earth!"</p><p>"I know," Eliot says, soft and ashamed. "I know that now. I thought I was doing the best thing, staying away from you after I fucked it all up. Margo told me that was bullshit, but I... I guess I couldn't face you."</p><p>"And why not?" Quentin cries. "Even if sleeping together was a mistake, it wouldn't have fucked anything up if you'd just fucking <i>talked </i>to me!"</p><p>"Jesus Christ, Quentin, sleeping with you wasn't a mistake! Leaving you was."</p><p>That brings Quentin up short. "What?"</p><p>Eliot deflates, defeated. "I meant what I said that night," he says. "I wanted you. I wanted you so badly, I couldn't stand it. But you were drunk, and you were still upset about your divorce, and it was the worst possible timing. When I woke up the next morning, I... freaked out."</p><p>Quentin shakes his head, more out of disbelief than anything else. "I don't - We weren't drunk. <i>Tipsy,</i> at the most. Alice and I had just gotten the divorce finalized, but we knew it was coming for a while. We'd been separated for almost a year. I wasn't cut up about the divorce, I was cut up about how we were going to get back to being friends."</p><p>"You were upset," Eliot says. "I wasn't ready."</p><p>"I don't... understand," Quentin says slowly. "Ready for what?"</p><p>"You," Eliot says, simple and devastating. "How I feel about you. You have no idea how much I hate myself for, pretty much everything over the last year. I ruined everything, I ruined even my chance to stay your friend. And I wasn't going to come this weekend, I made up an excuse about work to Margo and she knew it, but I couldn't hide from you anymore."</p><p>The breath freezes in Quentin's lungs, and he stares at Eliot, his jaw slack with his surprise. "I - You - <i>What?</i>" he stammers. "W-What changed your mind, then? If you were so fucking convinced you ruined everything, if you were even making excuses to <i>Margo </i>- "</p><p>"Because I know you," Eliot says. "I know you've been blaming yourself all year, and I need you to know the truth."</p><p>"And what is the truth?" Quentin asks, a little desperately. </p><p>"I--" Eliot hesitates, his eyes wide. "Fuck." And then he's across the room, crowding into Quentin's space, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, and they're kissing.</p><p>Quentin muffles a surprised noise against Eliot's mouth - but he doesn't push Eliot away, doesn't demand to know what the hell Eliot thinks he's doing. Quentin could blame that on being caught off-guard, and he is, but... There's something almost desperate in the way Eliot's kissing him, something that soothes and agitates Quentin in the same heartbeat. Distantly, he's aware that this is probably a mistake, but... <i>Damn it,</i> he's always been weak to Eliot. </p><p>Mind made up, Quentin reaches up, threads his fingers in Eliot's hair, and kisses him back, hard and desperate and maybe just a little bit angry. Eliot allows it, doesn't try to gentle him, just lets him take what he needs. Quentin doesn't even know what he needs, just that he wants to-- <i>possess</i> Eliot, to crawl inside of him and <i>feel</i> for the first time in a fucking year. He's pulling Eliot back onto the bed before he can think it through.</p><p>It's fast, faster than it was last Christmas, and they don't talk, either. Their focus is each other, ridding themselves of their clothes as fast as they can, touching as much as possible. Quentin moans when Eliot's hand finds his cock, quickly returning the favor and swallowing Eliot's answering moan. The two of them find a rhythm quickly, easily, and Quentin kind of wants to cry, kind of wants to scream, at how it's not desperate and angry anymore - suddenly it's just <i>desperate. </i></p><p>The weight of Eliot over him, the feel of him rocking against Quentin, his hands roaming and his mouth never leaving Quentin's for longer than needed to take a heaving breath, it all comes together, pushes Quentin to the edge faster than he would have thought possible. He barely has time to whine a half-formed warning before he's coming. </p><p>Eliot is right there with him, gasping a harsh breath against Quentin's cheek as he shakes apart above him.</p><p>He doesn't quite collapse on top of Quentin after, but it's a near thing, if the shaking of his arms is anything to go by. He does pull away, so that they're sharing breath rather than kissing - and then he pulls away further when Quentin nudges him, hands already lifting to run through the standard cleaning tut. Once that's done, the evidence of their tryst neatly vanished, Eliot rolls away. They lie side-by-side as their breathing slowly returns to normal - and then Eliot runs a hand through his hair, and starts to sit up.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I didn't mean for that to happen."</p><p>Quentin shoves himself upright, gawking at Eliot. "Are you <i>serious?</i>" he demands. "<i>That's </i>the first thing out of your mouth?"</p><p>"Fuck, Q, that's not what I meant," Eliot says. "I didn't want to do this again."</p><p>Quentin grits his teeth. "Then maybe you should've said so <i>before </i>we got our clothes off," he snaps. "Fucking - Jesus, Eliot. Maybe you should go."</p><p>"No!" Eliot cries, whirling to face Quentin and grasping both of his hands. "I didn't want to-- fuck you instead of dealing with my fucking emotions."</p><p>"And exactly what <i>emotions </i>are those, Eliot?" Quentin bites out, glaring at Eliot. "I don't think you've ever actually said."</p><p>Eliot seems to shrink before his ire, but he doesn't back down. "Love," he says, barely more than a whisper. "I'm in love with you."</p><p>Quentin stares at him for a long moment. "No you goddamn aren't," he finally says, disbelieving. "You wouldn't have done - You wouldn't have <i>said </i>- "</p><p>Eliot laughs, harsh and cold, and pulls his hands away. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But this is Eliot 'Colossal Fuck-Up' Waugh we're talking about. I destroy everything I touch, Q. Why would I stick around to talk and tell you how I feel and risk actually being <i>happy</i> for once in my miserable life, when it would be so much easier to run away and pretend it meant nothing?"</p><p>There's too many half-formed questions running through Quentin's mind to speak any of them, so he doesn't. Instead, he takes a couple of deep breaths, hands fisted on his lap now that Eliot isn't holding them, before he finally settles on one. "How long?" he asks, voice low. "How long have you - have you been in love with me?"</p><p>Eliot can't look at him for this one. "Years," he confesses. "Since Brakebills."</p><p>"And you never - " Quentin feels like his world has tilted on its axis. "And you... When I asked if we could talk about what happened, you told me to quit overthinking it, you basically said it was never going to happen again, but - Eliot, you <i>know </i>me. I don't. I don't <i>do </i>hook-ups. You had to know I wouldn't just let it go!"</p><p>"And you know that hook-ups are all I do," Eliot says. "It's very on-brand for me to brush anything that means something under the rug. I was living up to everyone's expectations - surpassing them, even, so Margo tells me."</p><p>Quentin can't help the way the corner of his mouth twitches. "She tore you a new one once you told her what happened, didn't she?"</p><p>"She thoroughly eviscerated me," Eliot says. "Didn't make any difference, though."</p><p>"You still didn't even text me," Quentin sighs. He hesitates for a moment, and then asks, "And this weekend? You said you gave Margo an excuse, but what... What made you change your mind?"</p><p>"I don't know," Eliot admits. "I just couldn't hide from you anymore. I missed my chance to be brave, but you still deserve to know the truth."</p><p>"And what am I supposed to do with this?" Quentin demands, maybe a little meanly, but <i>damn </i>it, he doesn't think it's uncalled for. "Just... accept it and go back to being your friend? What did you want to accomplish, here?"</p><p>Eliot actually flinches. "I don't know," he says. "The ball is in your court - where it should have been from the start. I'll follow your lead."</p><p>Quentin reaches up and scrubs his hands over his face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he mutters. "I mean, I - I've always been <i>attracted </i>to you, but I figured that it wasn't... Anything serious on your end. And then I was with Alice, and I just never thought about..." He blows out a breath and tries again. "This past year <i>sucked,</i> Eliot. And a large part of that was because I finally let myself realize that I'm in love with you, but that was only <i>after </i>you ditched me. I don't think I can just... go back to being friends. Not after a realization like that."</p><p>Eliot nods, looks away. "I deserve that."</p><p>"I don't want to go through this year again," Quentin says quietly. "I don't want to be stuck, and I don't want to go back, I - I want to go forward."</p><p>Eliot swallows audibly. "What does that look like?" he asks. "A clean break?"</p><p>"No, I - " Quentin has to swallow down the lump in his throat. "I was thinking maybe a date or two?"</p><p>Eliot looks up so fast Quentin thinks he hears his neck click. "What?"</p><p>"I was thinking maybe we try that whole 'dating' thing," Quentin repeats, more nervously than before. "I don't want to lose you, El - and I don't want to lose this chance. I know it might sound... a little crazy, but - why not? Why not give it a shot?"</p><p>"Because I'm a fucking horrendous person," Eliot says, incredulous. "What part of the last year - hell, the last seven - makes you think I'm boyfriend material?"</p><p>Quentin blinks. "The way you dote on Margo? Hell, on all of us, really. You've got issues dealing with and expressing your emotions, so does our whole weird little family. If you work on your problems, I'll work on mine, and we can... Be there for each other. I'm not asking you for forever, Eliot, I'm just - I'm asking for a chance. No bullshit, just us, seeing if maybe we can make this work."</p><p>"It's not that simple, Q," Eliot says, desperate. "It can't be."</p><p>Quentin shrugs. "Why not?" He asks quietly. "You've already started working on your issues; you had, what, a glass and a half of wine at dinner?"</p><p>Eliot flushes. "I didn't want to be drunk for this," he says. "Again."</p><p>"And yet, we ended up in bed anyway. Again," Quentin points out, but it's wry, teasing. </p><p>Eliot winces. "You're not just a quick fuck to me, Q," he says. "I know that's horribly out of character for me, but I fucking love you. If you want to give this a shot, I'm all in. Just try not to be surprised when I fuck it up."</p><p>"Don't set us up for failure like that," Quentin chides softly, reaching out to carefully lay his hand over Eliot's. "We both fuck up, a <i>lot. </i>But I think after everything, we deserve a shot at being happy."</p><p>Eliot actually wells up at that. "I'm so sorry, Q," he whispers. "I was so scared."</p><p>"I know," Quentin murmurs. "One conversation doesn't - <i>erase </i>the past year, but. We can work on it, now. On moving on."</p><p>Eliot nods, slow and halting. "I guess I should... go back to my room?"</p><p>Quentin bites his lip. "Or you could stay, if you want to. Be kind of nice to wake up next to you."</p><p>"Oh." Eliot lets out a shaky breath. "If you're sure..."</p><p>"I wouldn't suggest it if I wasn't."</p><p>"Okay," Eliot says. He offers Quentin a tentative smile. "Then I'll stay."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <i>Eliot stared down at the ashes on his hotel room carpet. Margo had always had a flare for the dramatic, but this seriously took the cake. And it was going to be a bitch to clean up, though that was probably part of the appeal for her. Definitely part of the appeal. He hadn't spoken to Margo for four months, but he still knew her better than he knew himself.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And it was fucking working, wasn't it? Because here Eliot was, picking up the phone for the first time this year. He'd hate her if he didn't love her so much.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was well past midnight in New York, but Margo answered on the first ring, because of course she knew that this of all things would have the desired effect. Eliot spoke first.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Really, Bambi?" God, was that his voice? He sounded so tired, defeated. "A Howler? I know I've only seen that movie once, but I'm pretty sure it didn't burst into flames in Harry's hands as soon as it was done screaming at him."</i>
</p><p><i>"Harry was a minor and essentially a Muggleborn, they had to go easy on him," Margo replied archly. "Also, it was Ron who got the Howler. </i>You,<i> on the other hand, are most definitely </i>not <i>a minor, and you're also an asshole, and a graduate from fucking Brakebills. You can handle a minor explosion."</i></p><p>
  <i>"If I don't get the scorchmarks out of the carpet, you can pay the bill," Eliot replied archly. He tucked the phone against his ear with his shoulder and sat down on the bed, a cigarette already between his fingers.</i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p><i>"At least you're dealing with ashes, not blood," Margo replied, her tone suddenly shifting into something a lot harder. "Because I was </i>this <i>close to portaling myself to fucking </i>Oregon <i>just to beat some goddamn answers out of you before I turned you into a corpse."</i></p><p>
  <i>Eliot winced as he was rolling his fingers through the tut to light his cigarette, and had to start again. "How did you even know where I was?"</i>
</p><p><i>Margo snorted hard enough to make the line crackle. "Please, Waugh, don't insult me with the insinuation that I can't track down my best friend, even when he's being an irritating cock and trying to shield himself." She paused, and then came the question Eliot had been waiting for: "What the absolute cock-sucking </i>fuck <i>is your excuse for ditching me for four </i>goddamn <i>months?"</i></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot sighed out a long plume of smoke, and eyed the remaining three cigarettes in the carton. That wasn't going to be enough to see him through this conversation, let alone the aftermath. "Some of the very colourful things your letter just shrieked at me suggest you already know the answer to that."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I want to hear your answer," Margo said sweetly. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot growled. "What do you want me to say, Margo?" he demanded. "I set everything meaningful in my life on fire four months ago and I've been running from it ever since. You've clearly spoken to Quentin, so you know exactly what happened. I'm honestly surprised you've put this much effort into trying to find me."</i>
</p><p><i>"Oh, you're stuck with me for fucking </i>life, <i>Eliot," Margo assured him. "Just like you're stuck with everyone else, and honestly you should be glad that it's me who tracked you down, and not Julia, because she wouldn't have sent a goddamn Howler first."</i></p><p>
  <i>Eliot sighed. "I know," he said. "I really don't know what you want from me, here."</i>
</p><p><i>"I want to know if you're going to keep avoiding me," Margo replied. "More importantly, are you going to keep avoiding </i>Quentin?<i>"</i></p><p>
  <i>"Is that a serious question?" Eliot asked. "What is my alternative, here? It's better for both of us if I drop off the face of the earth."</i>
</p><p><i>"I know it's asking a lot, but you </i>could<i> talk to Quentin, like he </i>asked <i>you to, and see about going on a couple of dates," Margo said, her eye roll clear in the tone of her voice. "You know, like the adults we're supposed to be. If he shoots you down, then you can avoid him."</i></p><p>
  <i>Eliot didn't even hesitate. "No," he said. "That bridge is well and truly burned. I don't want to talk to him. I just want to live my life, okay? I want to keep making beautiful buildings with beautiful magic, and stay far away from Quentin Coldwater. That way, no one is disappointed."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Except for you and Quentin."</i>
</p><p><i>"Who gives a shit about me?" Eliot asked, dismissive. "Quentin will get over it. It was just a weird rebound fuck because he was upset about spending Christmas with his ex-wife, and because he's </i>Quentin<i> he found it difficult to accept that he'd do something so casual and slutty, not to mention..." </i>Meaningless.<i> Eliot cleared his throat. "So it's all a moot point, Bambi."</i></p><p><i>"Honey, you aren't the one who's talked to Quentin at all over the past few months," Margo pointed out. "He's not getting over it, and it wasn't casual for him. And even if it was, and you're right about him having a hard time accepting that, you dropping off the face of the earth after that fucking text is </i>not <i>going to help you two get back to normal by this Christmas."</i></p><p>
  <i>"I'm not coming this year," Eliot told her. "I'll be too busy working. Non-issue."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Margo sighed. "How do you know you'll be too busy?" she asked, uncharacteristically gentle. "I know the kind of workload you put on yourself at the best of times, El."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"And it's going to be even heavier this year," Eliot assured her. "One of the many talents I've been developing over the past few years is the gift of foresight. Business is booming and I strongly suspect that we're going to come into contact with a select few very demanding clients as we draw into winter, who will not want to compromise their timescale and who will only want to work with yours truly. I am, after all, the very best."</i>
</p><p><i>"You might be the best, but you aren't a fucking machine," Margo spit. "You're gonna run yourself into the fucking ground, El, and then where am I going to be? I'm not going to lose you, not to fucking </i>death by overworking <i>of all things."</i></p><p>
  <i>Eliot sighed, and somehow managed to pinch the bridge of his nose without setting his hair alight. "You're not going to lose me, Bambi," he promised her. "I just... have to lose myself, for a while."</i>
</p><p><i>"Fine. But you are </i>not <i>dropping out of contact with me like that again, okay? I'm not going a whole goddamn year with </i>this <i>being our only conversation."</i></p><p>
  <i>"Okay," Eliot said. "I'm sorry, I'll keep in touch. But don't... Don't mention anything to Q, okay?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Margo huffed. "Fine."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eliot closed his eyes, swallowed hard against the scream trying to claw its way up his throat. "Thank you."</i>
</p>
<hr/><p>Eliot opens his eyes to thin, wintery sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, and an armful of sleep-warm boy. It's not too dissimilar from the last time he woke up in this room. He even has the all-too-familiar sense of dread, the feeling that he just fucked everything up beyond salvation, the desperate urge to run far and fast before Quentin wakes up and Eliot has to see the regret in his eyes. But different from last year is the stronger determination to squash that fear and face all that waits for him this morning head-on.</p><p>It helps a lot that Quentin is already awake, and while he's watching Eliot warily, waiting to see if he's going to shove Quentin away from him and run screaming from the room, there's no regret to be found in his expression. Eliot feels himself relax just a fraction.</p><p>"Hi," he whispers.</p><p>Quentin relaxes, and even gives Eliot a small smile. "Hi," he murmurs back. "You're still here."</p><p>Eliot huffs a soft laugh. "Yeah. Against all odds."</p><p>Quentin’s smile grows. "But you're here, that's the important part."</p><p>Eliot returns the smile, reaching out to touch his face. "You're okay, right?" he asks. "No second thoughts?"</p><p>"No second thoughts," Quentin says firmly, leaning into Eliot's touch. "Kinda thinking about what we're gonna do, moving forward. Like, logistics."</p><p>"Logistics," Eliot repeats, flat. "Goodie."</p><p>Quentin rolls his eyes, but his smile never wavers. "I just mean like, we don't need to do those like. First few dates? The semi-awkward ones where you're still trying to get to know each other."</p><p>"I thought that's what you wanted," Eliot says, frowning. "You said you wanted to... try dating."</p><p>"Yeah, but like - we already know each other," Quentin points out. "We don't need to go out for like, coffee dates, or dinner and a movie, and play twenty questions. We can just... go out, spend time together."</p><p>"What are you saying?" Eliot asks, a soft smile creeping back onto his lips.</p><p>"I'm saying, we can just... be together," Quentin says. "Not a lot will change, except maybe we'll fix up a portal of some kind to my apartment so you can visit more often."</p><p>"Oh," Eliot breathes out. His eyes are bright, and he bites at his lip. "Okay. But what if... more than that changed?"</p><p>"Like what?"</p><p>"Like what if we didn't need a portal?"</p><p>Quentin goes still, his eyes wide. "In... what kind of way?" he asks carefully. </p><p>"Shit," Eliot says - and laughs. "Not-- Like, I have an apartment in New York, that my boss pays for and that I hardly ever use, because I'm always fucking travelling. Read: running away. But I... I fucking hate it, Q. I can do my job from anywhere. I can portal into places for a consult, or I can astral project or something; I don't need to live my life out of hotel rooms. So why don't I just. Stop?"</p><p>Quentin relaxes. "I think that'd be good," he says. "It'd be nice to see you more. And I know Margo would be happy with you being closer full-time, too."</p><p>"Please," Eliot laughs. "Margo hates my job even more than I do, especially after this year."</p><p>Quentin snorts. "She'd probably be happiest if you quit and found something else to do."</p><p>"One thing at a time," Eliot says, laughing. "This is... this is enough for now."</p><p>Quentin reaches up to brush a stray curl from Eliot's face. "Fair enough," he concedes. "Can I - Can I have a kiss? Morning breath be damned, I just... I really want to kiss you."</p><p>"You are unbelievably adorable," Eliot says, smiling, but he presses closer to give Quentin his kiss.</p><p>Quentin smiles into the kiss, hand shifting so he can pull Eliot closer. He hums in quiet pleasure as they pull apart. "Mm. Good morning."</p><p>"Good morning," Eliot murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. "And merry Christmas."</p><p>Quentin's smile grows. "Merry Christmas."</p><p>Eliot kisses him again - but then pulls away with a sigh. "As much as I'd love to spend all morning in bed with you, nature calls," he says. "I'll be right back?"</p><p>Quentin laughs. "Alright, but hurry up; I want to do some more cuddling before we have to face everyone else."</p><p>"I'll be quick," Eliot promises, even as he slips out of bed, taking one of the blankets with him. He doesn't bother so much as looking for his underwear before he slips from the room, the blanket held loosely around his waist - but he immediately regrets it when he walks straight into Julia.</p><p>Julia freezes for a split-second, caught off-guard - and then her expression morphs into something furious. "What the <i>hell </i>do you think you're doing?" she snarls. </p><p>"Um," Eliot says, caught like a deer in the headlights with his dick almost literally in his hand. "Going to piss?"</p><p>"Really? Because it looks an awful lot like your doing a goddamn <i>walk of shame </i>out of my <i>best friend's room!</i>" Julia snarls. </p><p>"I mean, I am coming out of his room," Eliot allows, while his brain backfires so loudly it echoes around his skull. "But there's no shame. I just need the bathroom."</p><p>"I'll say you don't have any shame!" Julia shouts. "Really, Waugh? I should hex you where you stand for even daring to walk past his fucking door, and you <i>spent the night?</i>"</p><p>"Yes!" Eliot cries, affronted now. "Because he wanted me to. Do you think I'd go anywhere near him if he didn't want me to?"</p><p>"You and I both know that Q doesn't always make the best decisions," Julia hisses, oblivious to Kady and Penny coming up behind her. "Especially not where his dick or his heart are involved."</p><p>Eliot winces. "Listen, Julia, I know it's been hard, this past year. I know you've been looking out for him. But we talked last night, and I--"</p><p>"Did he ask you to talk or did you just come after him while I was gone?" Julia asks snidely. </p><p>Eliot falters. "I... I asked him to hear me out."</p><p>Julia looks vindicated. "That's exactly what I thought - "</p><p>Another door down the hall slams open, and then Margo is there, dressed in a little slip of a nightdress and looking furious as all hell. "What the fuck is going on here?"</p><p>Julia doesn't move her glare from Eliot. "I just caught <i>him </i>sneaking out of Q's room," she snaps. </p><p>Margo turns an incredulous look on Eliot. "What the fuck, Waugh?"</p><p>"Look," Eliot says, "I know I don't have a leg to stand on, here, but it's seriously not what you think."</p><p>"Oh, yeah, your bullshit about Q 'asking you to stay,'" Julia sneers, and she takes a step forward, advancing on Eliot - </p><p>Only to freeze when the door to Quentin's room opens. Quentin himself appears, only marginally more dressed than Eliot is - he at least took the time to throw on a pair of briefs. "Why the hell is my doorway so popular this morning?" he demands. "Jules, let Eliot go to the bathroom, Jesus."</p><p>"Someone better explain, right the fuck now," Margo snarls, before Eliot has the chance to go anywhere.</p><p>"Eliot and I talked last night," Quentin says, shooting Julia a quelling look. "And I did some shouting. But we got it all sorted out, we talked about everything that happened, and we're good."</p><p>"Good enough for another meaningless roll in the sack?" Julia demands. "I know you're a fucking masochist, Q, but holy shit."</p><p>"No, good enough to let him stay the night, and talk about what we're going to do next year, <i>together,</i>" Quentin shoots back. </p><p>That brings them both up short, but it's Margo who finds her voice first. "<i>What?</i>" she breathes, staring incredulously at Eliot. "Is he for real?"</p><p>"Yeah," Eliot says, a helpless, giddy smile curling his lips. "I told him everything, and he... We're together."</p><p>"Well," Margo drawls, "merry fucking Christmas to you," at exactly the same time that Julia explodes.</p><p>"Q, <i>please</i> don't tell me you're falling for this <i>bullshit!</i>"</p><p>Quentin crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Julia. "I appreciate the protectiveness, Julia, but whatever argument you're going to come up with, I've already had out with him. Eliot knows he's still not entirely off the hook for this past year because it <i>really </i>fucking sucked, but I'm satisfied enough with what we talked about to give it a chance."</p><p>"Then you're an idiot," Julia spits, and Eliot scowls.</p><p>"Hey!"</p><p>"And you!" Julia snarls, rounding on Eliot. Sparks actually fly from her fingertips, and are her <i>eyes glowing?</i> "If there is ever so much as a split second in the rest of his life when he is not blissfully, euphorically happy, I will know about it, and I will eviscerate you on the spot."</p><p>Eliot wholeheartedly believes her, but-- "The man has clinical depression," he argues, wild and ridiculous. "What if it's not my fault?"</p><p>"It will be," Julia assures him.</p><p>Quentin steps forward, in between Eliot and Julia. "Jules, I appreciate the sentiment, but please - <i>back off.</i> At least until you and I can talk in private, okay? We don't need to make this morning any more of a soap opera with a live audience."</p><p>Julia softens, but only a fraction. "It's Christmas, Q," she says. "I don't want him to ruin this for you."</p><p>"I know," Quentin says. "But you going after him without talking or listening to me isn't exactly... conducive to a good Christmas, either."</p><p>"He doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt," Julia insists.</p><p>"Well that's not <i>just</i> your decision to make, is it?" Quentin snaps.</p><p>"You don't exactly have a history of rational thinking where he's concerned!"</p><p>"Look," Eliot says, peering at Julia over the top of Quentin's head. "I fucked up royally last year, and I know you have no reason to trust or believe me, but I'm not dicking around anymore. I'm in love with Quentin."</p><p>"Oh my god."</p><p>They all whirl around towards the sound of this new voice, and the bottom drops out of Eliot's stomach as he realises that Alice is standing at the end of the hall.</p><p>Quentin swallows. "Alice, hey. Um. I guess we probably woke you up, with all the shouting?"</p><p>"Don't worry about it," Alice says, finally stepping closer. "Are you and Eliot together now?"</p><p>Quentin glances at Eliot, who looks like he's very much afraid that Alice will use her phosphoromancy to set him ablaze, and then turns back to Alice with a helpless sort of shrug. "Yeah. We are."</p><p>Alice looks between them both, her expression thoughtful, before she nods. "It makes sense," she says. "I always thought there was something more between you."</p><p>Quentin flushes at the reminder of one of their earliest fights. "Yeah, I - There might've been. But we never really... did anything about it, except for that one finals week we pretended never happened, and then you and I were back together."</p><p>Eliot literally cringes away from that statement, and Alice's expression does something complicated and horrifying before smoothing out into something more neutral. "Well," she says. "As long as you're happy, Quentin, that's all that matters." She even manages to sound sincere.</p><p>Quentin, to his credit, seems to realize that he narrowly avoided choking on his own foot. “Thank you,” he says, just as sincere, if a little awkward and sheepish. “Now, can we please just… get on with Christmas, since we’re all up?”</p><p>"I'm going to pee," Eliot says, with great dignity, before anyone has the chance to argue. He stalks past everyone to the bathroom, blanket still clutched about his waist.</p><p>"I'm coming with you," Margo says, close on his heels. She slams the door behind them.</p><p>Julia looks about ready to explode, but she manages to keep her tone even when she turns back to Quentin. "Are you <i>sure</i> about this?" she asks. "I don't want to ruin Christmas, but I also don't want to see you get hurt again."</p><p>Quentin sees Alice, Kady, and Penny ducking out of the hall from the corner of his eye, but most of his attention is on Julia. "I'm sure," he says. "I - You know what a mess I was, after I figured out why him ditching me hurt so much. I couldn't just go back to being his friend after that, Jules. Not after learning he loves me, that he's loved me for <i>years.</i> I meant it when I said he's not off the hook yet, and he knows it, too, but - It was either cut him out of my life and make <i>all </i>of us miserable, or give this a chance. Either we end up happy together, or we realize we're not good together like that, and we move on like Alice and I are working on."</p><p>Julia looks pained. "I know how much you love him," she says. "And I have to admit, him telling everyone he loves you is... a pretty big deal. But what are you going to do when this weekend is over and he jets off to the other side of the country again?"</p><p>"He's not," Quentin tells her. "He's got an apartment in the city, something that his work pays for, but he's never used. But he wants to slow down a little - and Margo's been after him about how much work he's been taking on, apparently - so. He said he's going to use it more; he can portal to consults, quit living out of hotel rooms."</p><p>Julia's eyebrows shoot up. "That's. Actually a lot more commitment than I was expecting from him."</p><p>Quentin shrugs. "I told you - <i>years. </i>We both want this to work, and we're old enough, and have known each other long enough, to skip the whole - casually dating part."</p><p>"Okay," Julia says. She sighs. "I trust you way more than I trust him. But if he breaks your heart again, I'll fucking kill him, Q."</p><p>Quentin smiles. "I know you will."</p><p>Julia drags him in for a hug. "Merry Christmas, Q," she says. "I love you."</p><p>Quentin presses his face into her hair, and hugs her back tightly. “Merry Christmas, Jules.”</p>
<hr/><p>Once they're all dressed and ready to go, Eliot throws together an easy but spectacular breakfast and they all gather together in the living room to exchange gifts. Eliot sits next to Quentin, and the gifts are all of the weird, vaguely-impersonal variety that adults buy each other when they don't get together very often. Usually Eliot and Margo are the marked exception to this rule, but Eliot hasn't exactly been around this year. Still, it's only a little awkward, so Eliot counts it as a win.</p><p>There was another snowfall last night, so as soon as they're done Eliot kicks everyone out of the cabin to enjoy it so that he can cook in peace. He manages to get a solid hour in without hearing so much as a peep out of the others before the kitchen door opens. Eliot whirls to face it, prepared to spit potentially-literal fire at whoever dares to enter his domain, but he's surprised to find Quentin hovering in the doorway.</p><p>"Oh," Eliot says, smiling. "Hey."</p><p>Quentin returns the smile, and steps forward. "Hey," he says. "How's dinner coming?"</p><p>"Beautifully," Eliot says. "Turkey's in the oven, ham is going in soon, veg is prepped, potatoes are boiling." He beams. "I'm in heaven."</p><p>Quentin chuckles, moving closer so he can loop his arms about Eliot's waist. "Sounds like you've got it all well in hand," he observes. "And like you're almost to a point where you'll be standing around doing nothing for an hour or two?"</p><p>"There's always plenty to do," Eliot argues, even as he wraps his own arms around Quentin, one hand wandering up to sink into his hair. "I'm making mince pies, so we need brandy butter. We need stuffing, and pigs in blankets, and cranberry sauce... But I suppose I could take some time away, if you have a tempting counter-offer."</p><p>"Come join us?" Quentin asks, tilting his head so he can look up at Eliot with the infamous Coldwater Puppy Eyes. "Just for a little while."</p><p>Eliot sighs, a smile playing about his lips. "I'm pretty sure I'm still Public Enemy Number One," he says. "As much as I would love to come and play in the snow with you, I don't want to spoil the atmosphere."</p><p>"Letting Julia chuck a few snowballs at your head will probably improve her opinion of you," Quentin points out. "Then you and I can go to the other side of the yard and build a snowman."</p><p>"You're ridiculous," Eliot assures him, not unkindly. "But fine. Whatever you want. I'm not really in the position to dig my heels in anymore."</p><p>Quentin beams. "Can I have a kiss before I let you finish putting the ham in?"</p><p>"You can have whatever you want," Eliot says, achingly sincere, and kisses him.</p><p>Quentin smiles into the kiss, and then retreats to an unused corner of the kitchen while Eliot finishes his prep work, putting the ham in the oven and setting a few preservation charms over the things that need them for the hour or so that Quentin's planning on holding him hostage outside. Once all of that is ready, Quentin herds him down the hallway to get properly dressed for a trip to the great outdoors, bearing Eliot's snarking about how the backyard is <i>not</i> 'the great outdoors' with only a few eye rolls. Once Eliot's dressed, Quentin laces their fingers together and tugs him outside - and then immediately has to duck as a snowball comes flying at his face, blindingly bright. "Jesus, Alice, watch the light show!" he complains, but he's laughing. "We don't need to be actually blinded."</p><p>"There is no mercy in magic snowball fights," Alice informs him, very seriously - and then yelps when Margo sends a snowball right down the back of her coat.</p><p>"Cryomancy, bitches!" she crows, four snowballs already floating around her. "Get your asses in gear, this is war!"</p><p>"Oh," Eliot laughs, even as the snow around his feet starts to form itself into his own missiles. "It's fucking on."</p><p>The ensuing snowball fight is as ferocious as it is spectacular. They quickly divide into teams, Julia, Kady and Penny versus Margo and Alice versus Eliot and Quentin. Quentin is as clumsy in this as he is in everything else, so Eliot ends up splitting his efforts pretty evenly between waging war on the others and directing everyone else's snowballs away from Quentin.</p><p>Even so, there's no clear winner. They fight until they're exhausted, until they're soaked to the bone, until Eliot deflects a snowball the size of a small boulder that Penny sent hurtling at Quentin and sends it careening into a tree instead and Julia calls a truce, something almost like respect in her eyes as she looks across the yard at Eliot. Eliot just nods once and wraps an arm around Quentin's shoulders, pulling him in close.</p><p>They break it up after that, the girls heading inside to change and Penny following Julia and Kady at a safe distance, having been thoroughly chewed out by Julia for taking the game too far. Eliot still has some time before he needs to be back in the kitchen, though, and he snags Quentin's hand when he too turns to head back into the cabin. "Wait," Eliot says, laughing, reeling Quentin back in. "I thought you wanted to build a snowman."</p><p>Quentin goes easily. "I thought <i>you</i> wanted to get back to protecting your domain?" he teases. "Making sure that Margo doesn't try to meddle with your efforts and carefully-guarded recipes?"</p><p>"She'll be busy getting changed for a while," Eliot assures him. "My domain is safe for now."</p><p>Quentin grins. "Then yeah, let's go build a snowman."</p><p>They wander over to a patch of relatively-undisturbed snow, and Eliot turns back to Quentin with a teasing smile. "I'm guessing you want me to do all the work?"</p><p>"I mean, your telekinesis has to be good for something, right?" Quentin says, all innocence - until he laughs. "Maybe help hold the snow in place once we move it over here and start building."</p><p>Eliot grins. "You're having far too much fun, milking my crippling guilt."</p><p>"Just for this weekend," Quentin assures him, laughing, as he starts gathering snow. "After this, I'm sure I'll find something else to hold over you. Or I'll just fall back on my cute charms."</p><p>"You're ridiculous," Eliot says. "But very cute. You could milk this for years, and no one would blame you." He glances towards the house. "Julia would definitely approve."</p><p>"Julia is a vindictive bitch," Quentin says without hesitation, laughing. "And utterly ruthless. I'd rather not have you drowning in guilt for years, though. C'mere, hold this pile in place while I shape it. Not really enough here to make a huge snowman, but we can make a little one."</p><p>"I've got it," Eliot says. He watches Quentin work for a long moment, and then adds, "Maybe next year we'll get more snow."</p><p>Quentin freezes, and then turns to look at Eliot so fast he drops the snow in his hands. "Yeah?" he asks, grinning. "Think we can build a better snowman next year?"</p><p>Eliot smiles back, his eyes gone soft and gooey. "I think it's a distinct possibility."</p>
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